


No Reason

by olly_octopus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Humour, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, big fluff here guys, but aren’t we all, enemies to lovers sorta, harry is confused and big gay for malfoy, idk im big dumb, its horrific but im told it’s very funny so hey ho, my work is like if tumblr and bisexuality had babie, ughgghhh here we go again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:15:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olly_octopus/pseuds/olly_octopus
Summary: “Oh, Potter, he’s being unbearable,” cries Pansy, throwing herself backwards onto a sofa with all the grace and dignity of a stroppy toddler. “You really must do something about it.”“Me?” Harry blurts, astonished. “What do you want me to do?”“Oh, how the hell should I know,” replies Pansy, still splayed out dramatically across the cushions. “Punch him in the face? Make out with him until he doesn’t know transfiguration from quidditch? I’m sure you’ll think of something.”Or, Draco is stressed out about the exams, and a pining Harry takes one for the team.





	No Reason

**Author's Note:**

> i stole this concept from a merthur fic that’s like 10x better than any moderately funny shit i could pull
> 
> not proofread, we die like men

Okay, so maybe Harry HAS been pining after Malfoy for months, and maybe everyone in Gryffindor DOES know that Harry would murder the minister of magic with a blunt fork for a chance to sit in Malfoy’s lap.

But, thinks Harry angrily as he throws down his books onto his bed, followed closely by himself, there is No Reason— absolutely No Reason that Pansy Parkinson should have any business knowing that Harry is Willing and Ready to suck Malfoy off on the floor in the middle of the sorting feast if Malfoy should so wish. NO reason.

Actually, thinks Harry, rolling over so he can’t see Dean’s bed (the ever persistent and lingering reminder that it’s Not Difficult to get laid by some dude you like if you actually put in effort) it’s probably Draco’s fault that Pansy knows. Draco probably twatted around, being pretty and talented and funny and having a nice arse, and Pansy just thought, oh, yeah, that seems like something anyone would be into, so Potter probably wants to make out with him by the lake. Yeah, it’s Draco’s fault.

Harry, Harry thinks, is Secretive and Elegantly Subtle and this Cannot be his fault.

Cannot.

It all started when Pansy cornered Harry, you see. Harry has had a Problem with being cornered in the past, and he really should work on it, but unfortunately the only times he remembers this is when he has already been cornered and is far too upset about it to actually make time in his schedule to work on artfully Avoiding People. (This doesn’t matter. We move on.)

“Potter,” she states, correctly. This a good start. Strong, solid. Harry is impressed.  
“What do you want, Pansy.” (Harry is impressed, but he’s also Tired and really doesn’t want to be bullied this particular afternoon.) Pansy makes a point of sighing heavily, glancing at at least three separate locations around the library that aren’t Harry, and then finally turning her attention back to him in a way that implies she’d rather be making Christmas cards for every occupant of the hospital wing, perhaps even with glitter glue.  
“It’s Draco,” she finally explains in a voice like she’s instructing Sebastian the Butler to show her sworn enemy to the guest bedroom. Harry thinks this is a little unfair, since she was the one that cornered him in the first place.

Harry squints at her.  
“Malfoy?”  
“Nothing gets past you, does it? No, it’s the exams, and he’s so fucking annoying; he won’t shut the fuck up for love nor money about how he only got seven on the eight marker and ninety three bastard percent on the herbology practice paper he got given. I’m going to kill him.”  
“Wh—-“

“Oh, Potter, he’s being unbearable,” cries Pansy, throwing herself backwards onto a sofa with all the grace and dignity of a stroppy toddler. “You really must do something about it.”  
“Me?” Harry blurts, astonished. “What do you want me to do?”  
“Oh, how the hell should I know,” replies Pansy, still splayed out dramatically across the cushions. “Punch him in the face? Make out with him until he doesn’t know transfiguration from quidditch? I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Harry does think of things, many things, none of which would be remotely appropriate, especially for someone who probably doesn’t even think he’s cute. Why is Pansy even trying to set them up anyway? Doesn’t she hate him? Doesn’t everyone hate her? 

No, Harry concludes at last, she’s probably doing it to make Harry look like an idiot in front of Draco, and there’s no way in hell Harry’s going to innocently tumble right into her scheming little trap.. no fucking way. He’s stupid but he’s not that stupid.

He’s not going to Draco, and that’s final.

Of course, three hours later, Harry is still internally kicking himself outside the Slytherin common room door.  
“Please let me in,” he mumbles childishly to the wildly unimpressed door knocker.  
“Fuck off,” says the door knocker, unhelpfully. “Why do you even want to come in anyway? You’re the Chosen One, and this is Slytherin. We’re gits. You hate us.”  
“I mean, not all— er, actually…”  
The door knocker gives off intense vibes of Very Done.  
“I, um, actually wanted to come and see Malfoy, er, he’s, he’s apparently being a dick to everyone and I wanted—-“

The door swings open.  
“Let me know if you need anything while you’re in there. Good luck.”

Harry grimaces.  
“...Thanks.”

The thirty seconds it takes for him to get across the common room are filled with suspicious stares and whispers that fly around the room like owls, surrounding him in an ocean of mistrust. Harry consoles himself with the thought of Draco’s arse, and then all is Gucci once more.  
He doesn’t know what he expects when he knocks on the boys’ dorm door, so when Draco yells, “What the FUCK do you want, Blaise,” Harry does come very close to turning and running for the hills immediately. But… no. Harry is a Big Boy and Draco Will Not intimidate him. If Voldemort doesn’t really intimidate him that much anymore, why the hell should Draco? (These are, in fact, Just Words and Draco has been intimidating him since the first day they met and likely will be doing so for the rest of his life, this is an Important Distinction.)

The door opens, and Harry steps through and shuts it behind him. (A good start, strong.)

Draco turns like he’s expecting his arch enemy to be stood there, which leads Harry to the conclusion that he really shouldn’t look as shocked as he does when is actual arch enemy is stood there. He just stands there, gaping, eyes roving over Harry’s form and quill loose in his grip. Harry is beginning to feel rather undressed by his stare.  
“Hi,” he says, and immediately wishes an oven was on hand so that he could shove his head in it.  
“What in Merlin’s tasseled nipple,” hisses Draco, swishing across the room towards him as though to make completely sure he’s really there. Harry is in fact beginning to wish he wasn’t.

Draco lifts one elegantly manicured hand and touches Harry’s face, testing the waters, like he’s wondering whether his hand is going to pass right through him. Harry finds himself thinking that it’s going to be ridiculously easy to get Draco kissing him and get his mind off homework, and he then realises how completely fucking outlandish this situation is anyway, but before he can finish his thought Draco slaps him, hard, across the face.

“FUCK,” exclaims Harry, staggering back across the dormitory as Draco stands, staring at his own hand like he fingered Newt Scamander himself with it.  
“I just slapped Harry Potter,” Draco announces in a tone like he can’t quite believe it’s possible.  
“Observation of the century,” spits Harry. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”  
Draco narrows his eyes and advances over, seeming to tower over Harry without actually being much taller than him, and Harry shrinks back.  
“Why are you in here, Potter,” Draco sneers, quill dropped to the floor. Baby steps, thinks Harry, and straightens up.

“I don’t know, Malfoy, why do you think I’m here?”  
Draco looks at him like he’s something disgusting he found under a desk.  
“How the hell should I know,” he quips, eyes searching his face. “You’re a gryffindor, the famous Harry Potter; what on earth would you want to be in here for? Probably not up to your usual standards, I suppose.”

Harry considers hexing him for a second but then thinks better of it.

“Oh Draco,” he sighs coquettishly, feeling stupider by the second but also determined that he’s not going to leave without even trying now that he’s gotten this far. “You’re so cynical; is it really that difficult to believe that I could be in here of my own free will? Because I wanted to see you?”  
Harry wants to take a photo of Draco’s face and frame it.  
“I… um… what?” He looks around helplessly, like Pansy’s going to burst in and curse Harry for daring to even hint as anything so heinous.  
“Is it really so hard,” continues Harry, deliberately moving closer and ignoring the little voice in his brain that’s currently frantically trying to backspace and sob and nervously tapdance at the same time, “to believe that I might want to spend time around you when we aren’t trying to kill each other?”

Draco should sharpie “YES” to his forehead in massive black letters, it’d be more subtle than the face he’s currently making.

Harry moves closer still, and feels the tension being pulled tight like elastic in a hairbobble, pulled between them and threatening to snap at any moment.

“You’ve been hexed, Potter,” Draco tells him shakily, eyes no longer suspicious and instead holding something like expectation and anxiety and… something else. Something unfamiliar. Harry feels a rush of confidence, and comes right up to Draco until he can feel the warm tickle on his breath ghosting across his skin.

“Want a bet?” And he kisses him. Kissing Draco is new, sweet, a tantalising moment that could go any way. Then, the elastic snaps, and Draco’s lips are hot against his, pressing, desperate, searching for something back which Harry is more than happy to give. Harry winds his arms around Draco’s neck, brushes his fingers against the shorter hair at his neck and kisses him with all he has, the space that’s always been tangible between them closed at last and it’s clear that neither have any problem with this. They go down onto the double bed that Harry will discover later belongs to a rather furious Blaise Zabini with a creaking off bedsprings and a one Draco Malfoy giving Harry the full octopus.

They lie there for a second, breathing hard, Draco’s forehead pressed against Harry’s like he’s doing a shitty self-teaching of occlumency. Harry can safely say he’s never felt more alive and more terrified in his life. Then, something seems to click for Draco, and he pulls away from Harry like he’s been stung.  
“...Draco?”  
“No… no, you’ve been hexed, it’s a love potion, it’s something, you’re not in your right mind- what the HELL was I thinking—!” He looks at Harry, panicked, fear showing clearly through the sharp contours of his face and guilt manifesting itself in his eyes. “I’d never… I couldn’t… it’s not right, not without… anyway.” He casts his eyes around. “We have to go to Snape or something- oh fuck, hang on, we can’t, imagine explaining that—  
‘Oh, Yeah, sir, I was just making out with Potter here and it occurred to me he’s probably under a spell’— oh fuck, what have I done—“

Harry sits up as Draco rambles away, only half aware of the nonsense tumbling out of his mouth.  
“Are you quite finished?”

Draco turns to stare at him, lost for words.  
“I… Potter, I, I don’t know if you’re even registering this but you’ve been spiked or something, and I’m so sorry for—“  
“I’m not spiked, you idiot,” interrupts Harry, fighting the urge to burst out laughing. “What the hell are you on? I’m kissing you because I like you, you twat, and I thought I’d come and try to tell you. Pansy said something about—“  
“Oh, so this is Pansy’s fault, that bitch—“  
“Shut the fuck up, she said you liked me too and I…” Harry averts his gaze. “I thought it’d be worth a shot.”

Draco stares at him for another second and then begins to giggle.  
“You’re a tosser.”  
“Wanker.” Harry kisses him again, and this time it’s slow and unburdened and he takes his time with it. When they break apart, Draco’s smiling, and Harry feels like killing him for never directing one his way before because it’s so beautiful and sunny that Harry might be blinded by it.  
“For what it’s worth, Potter, Pansy is telling the truth. You know, sometimes I think I underestimate that girl.” He kisses him again. “You must remind me to buy her something from Honeydukes’ when I’m next there.”

“I will,” promises Harry, and then the rest of the afternoon is lost to idle secrets and confessions thrown each other’s ways and sweet kisses that taste like honey and a release of feelings held close to one’s chest. 

And, if suddenly Draco is much easier to handle and if he doesn’t start revising six months before the exams, then the Slytherins have Pansy to thank for it and sort of but not really Harry. Pansy enjoys the gratitude, and the chocolate, and so everything is Gucci except that Blaise is Big Mad about the fact that he has to sleep in that bed.

**Author's Note:**

> rosie, my cat, has destroyed our bookcase and mum is out to make her into a furry handbag so 1 comment = 1 cosy sanctuary for rosie to hide from mum in
> 
> tumblr is @/ollyoctopus


End file.
